Behind Shadows: A Psychological Mystery Thriller (The Adam Stanley Series Book 1)

by Netta Newbound

  "He said he'll say a short prayer."

  "Okay."

  The chapel was draughty and dark. The stale, musty smell was overpowering and it took all my efforts to suppress the urge to retch.

  The vicar was kneeling at the pulpit and stood up as we entered. Sandra and I sat at the back.

  A simple pine coffin had been slotted in an alcove. I tried not to look at it. My stomach did a flip and I momentarily felt immense sadness for what should have been.

  The vicar said a prayer, but I didn't hear it. The curtains around the coffin began to close and a sob escaped my lips. I realised with a surprise that my face was wet from silent tears.

  Sandra, still linking my arm through hers, now hugged it against her. "Come on, love," she said.

  We walked back outside.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yep!" I sounded brighter than I felt and was relieved it was over.

  "I need to powder my nose. Are you okay on your own for a minute or two?"

  "Yes. Honestly, I'm fine. Take your time."

  I walked towards the gardens. An old stone wall surrounded beautiful flowerbeds. The trees displayed stunning autumn tones.

  There was a rustling at my side and I looked around, fully expecting to see a squirrel or a bird, but instead I stood staring into the eyes of a ghost.

  Chapter 31

  Amanda

  He was gone as fast as he’d arrived and for a second I thought I'd imagined the whole thing. I headed towards the spot he had stood just moments ago, but there was no sign of him. I couldn't go any further without clambering over the stone wall, so I ran back in the direction I'd come.

  Sandra appeared as I raced past the chapel steps. "Amanda?”

  I could hear her footsteps following behind me. There was nobody in the road. Sandra's car was the only one parked up. I stopped dead in my tracks and Sandra collided in to me, huffing and puffing.

  "Hey, what was that all about?"

  "Nothing," I whispered.

  "Are you sure? You're shaking like a leaf."

  "Yeah. I thought I saw somebody, but I was mistaken. There is nobody here."

  "Let's get you home."

  I couldn't rid myself of the ghostly image from the cemetery. Sandra dropped me off at home and I hoped she put my quiet mood down to the fact we’d just attended my father’s funeral.

  Michael had taken the children to see his aunt, and wasn't due back for a couple of hours.

  As I poured myself a glass of wine, a heaviness hung over me. I went through to the hallway and opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs. I found what I was looking for at the back, under copious amounts of junk. I managed to pull the large, dusty box out and dragged it into the lounge.

  After taking a deep breath, I exhaled in a rapid sigh and raised the cardboard lid.

  A knitted patchwork blanket covered the top of the box. I lifted it to my face. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I was sure I could smell my childhood bedroom. This blanket used to be very special to me. I didn’t know where it came from, but I'd had it as far back as I could remember, well before the nasty stuff began.

  I put the blanket on the floor and looked back inside the box. A pile of newspaper clippings was the next thing I laid my eyes on. They weren't as yellow as I imagined they'd be after almost twelve years, nowhere near as yellow as the ones behind the door of the Kingsley house.

  I carefully unfolded the first one. The headlines jumped off the page at me.

  Child Sex Slave Scandal

  I didn't want to read any more, but my eyes disagreed with me and rapidly ran down the page.

  A fourteen-year-old girl is to take the stand to describe the cruelty and sexual abuse she suffered at the hands of her natural father and his wife.

  Dennis and Anne Kidd deny all charges and are being held in custody on remand.

  The next three articles told me more or less the same, except that they included more details as they had come out. There were interviews with our old neighbours, school teachers and even one with a girl from my English class that I hardly knew. I refolded the clippings and placed them on top of the blanket.

  Next I pulled out a peg doll that my school friend, Jackie, had given me when we were eight years old, on one of the rare occasions I'd been allowed to visit her house. Her mum had bought it from a gypsy who knocked at the door and Jackie hadn't wanted it.

  Two books came next: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, and The Magic Faraway Tree. These had belonged to our mother from when she was a girl.

  Finally, I found what I'd been looking for. It was originally a shoebox that Andrew had covered with white wallpaper, and then drawn and doodled all over it. The sight of his childish artwork made my heart contract. Tears pricked my eyes.

  I removed the lid. So sad to think this was all I had to show my brother had ever existed.

  A Transformers pillowcase covered the top of the box. Then an Action Man in well-loved, threadbare clothing, and a poster of Michael Jackson's Thriller. A portable radio-CD player was tucked in the bottom of the box. I held it to my chest, remembering the day Andrew brought it home from school. He'd found it in the bin and worked on it night after night for two weeks until it was as good as new. The last item was a small white envelope.

  I pulled three photographs from it and laid them face up, side by side, on the carpet beside me. The first photograph was the only one I had of Andrew and me together, around eleven years old. We were both smiling and we looked so happy. The abuse had started years earlier but didn't get bad until around this time.

  In the second one, a very young Andrew aged three or four, sat on our mother's knee. She was gazing at him adoringly, but how could she adore him when she left us both less than a year later?

  The last one was Andrew aged fifteen and the one I needed to see. The face gazing back at me from the photo was the one I'd seen at the cemetery. I was certain of it now. He was older now; however, the shape of his face, slim features, steely pale-blue eyes and the full, shapely mouth, was definitely the same.

  What I wasn't certain about was if it had been my imagination. My mind had played all sorts of tricks on me lately. What if I was going mad?

  Once everything was back into the boxes, I placed them under the stairs—everything except the last photograph of Andrew, which I slid into my jeans pocket.

  Was it possible that he could still be alive? After all these years, I'd convinced myself he must be dead. Otherwise, why hadn't he contacted me before now? I needed to know for certain, but I had no idea where to start looking.

  Chapter 32

  Adam

  Adam stretched back in his seat, his eyes closed, his left hand placed on his face, lips puffing out slightly as he exhaled. Things couldn't get much worse. He’d known Kate had been struggling with her leg, but he’d just found out that she'd been rushed to the hospital, and was undergoing emergency surgery.

  Now the whole sorry case had landed with a crash on his shoulders. Three dead paedophiles, a serial killer on the loose, and no leads whatsoever.

  If he didn’t know better, he would think it a conspiracy to force him back into homicide, instead of the quiet life that had been promised by his superiors in Manchester.

  He looked at his watch and then jumped to his feet. He'd arranged to meet Mr Pitt at the Kingsley address. Forensics had finished there now and Adam wanted him to see if anything had been taken. Mr Pitt’s wife was too ill to join him, and he was in a rush to get back to her and their daughter.

  Then Adam intended to check on Amanda, and see how she was after the funeral.

  JD Pitt wasn't at all what he'd imagined. Long hair pulled into a band at the nape of his neck, not one strand out of place, and even the light stubble on his face was groomed to perfection. He wore a chequered black-and-grey shirt with a white T-shirt underneath, faded denim jeans, and soft brown loafers on his feet. He invited Adam inside.

  "Thanks for meeting me here, Mr Pitt."

  "N
o problem. I had to come into town to collect something for my wife."

  "How is she?"

  "Not too good, I'm afraid. In fact, we've employed a full-time nurse to care for her now. She seems to be deteriorating rapidly."

  "I'm very sorry to hear that. How about your daughter? Mary, isn't it? How's she doing?"

  "Yes. Mary. She's coping."

  "It must be hard for you?"

  "I won't deny we've had an awful year, but I owe it to Judy to keep going. She's been a wonderful wife," he said, his eyes drooping, seeming to focus on nothing in particular.

  Adam’s stomach felt as though it was twisting in on itself. He knew only too well what this poor man had to come, and he found it difficult to maintain a professional persona. "I'm sorry to have to drag you away from her, Mr Pitt. Shall we get down to business and then you can get back home?"

  Standing in the hallway, Mr Pitt confirmed neither he nor his wife knew who could have got the number to the door lock. "We've racked our brains, and apart from the security company who installed it, no-one's been here for a long time."

  "When was it installed?"

  "A few months ago, just before Judy decided she wanted to tidy the place up. She thought it would be easier than having to make the trip into town every time someone wanted access."

  "Maybe you could give me the details of the company that fitted it and we can chase it up. Although it's unlikely to have anything to do with them," Adam said. "Did you get a chance to inspect the property? To see if everything else is in order?"

  "To be honest, I've not been here for a long time. It used to be Judy’s parents' house. Nobody's lived here for a number of years. In fact, after her mother died her dad refused to set foot in the place. He just shut the door and walked away. He's been dead for two years now. The old place holds a lot of memories for Judy. I only encouraged her to get it tidied up to keep her occupied while she lay in bed."

  "There are a number of antiques around the place. I don't suppose your wife has a list of the valuables?"

  "I'm not too sure. I can ask her. I'm sorry I can't be more help."

  "That's okay, Mr Pitt. Thank you for your time." They shook hands and headed for their cars. Adam was opening his door when he noticed Mr Pitt trying to get his attention. He walked back around to the pavement.

  "I was going to say, Detective, and I don't wish to insinuate you aren't doing your job properly, but did you check out who has access to the decorator's emails? She's the only one Judy gave the numbers to."

  "Yes. I've thought about that but thanks. I'll double check. In the meantime, if you think of anything else, please call."

  Less than twenty minutes later Adam pulled up outside Amanda's house. The light was fading and the streetlights were already glowing.

  As he walked through the gate, the front door opened and Michael rushed out, closing the door behind him. He double locked it and was startled, as he swung around, to come face to face with Adam.

  'Oh, I didn't see you there."

  "I'm sorry. I was just checking on how Amanda is after today."

  "She seems fine. She's bathing the children right now and said she's having an early night. Do you want to go in?" Michael pulled the keys from his pocket again and motioned towards the door.

  "No, that's okay. Is everything else all right?"

  "Yeah, I guess so."

  "Oh, well, I'd best let you get on. Goodnight."

  "Goodnight, Detective."

  Sitting back in his car, Adam watched as Michael drove away. Glancing at the house before starting the engine, he wished he'd taken Michael up on his offer to see Amanda. He couldn't put his finger on the reason why, but he felt an overwhelming urgency to protect her.

  He was becoming obsessed with solving this case. It meant much more to him than it should. All the doubts he had in himself as a cop hung in the balance here. He knew it would signify the end to his career if he couldn’t crack it. Right or wrong—Adam hadn’t been able to save his wife—but he had no choice but to save Amanda if he had any chance of saving himself.

  Chapter 33

  Amanda

  The kids in bed and Michael out God knows where, I sat at the computer and trawled through my emails. Finding what I was looking for, I hit the 'Reply' button.

  Dear Judy,

  Please call me urgently! I need to arrange to meet with you.

  Regards,

  Amanda

  I pulled the photograph out of my pocket and gazed into the beautiful eyes of my long-lost brother. A sound from my computer indicated I had an email. It was from Judy.

  Gosh, that was fast!

  Dear Amanda,

  My mother is very sick at the

  moment. She is not up to

  visitors. She told me to ask,

  what is so urgent?

  Mary

  Dear Mary,

  I'm very sorry she's sick, but I

  am at my wit's end. It is more than

  urgent I speak to her. Please let

  me have your address. I promise I

  won't stay too long.

  A

  The reply was as fast as the last.

  Dear Amanda,

  She said she will see you.

  The best time of the day for her

  is midmorning. Address is below.

  Mary

  At ten o'clock the next morning I pressed the button on the electric gates, and moments later a young girl's voice came through the tinny-sounding speakers. "Hello."

  "Oh, hi, you must be Mary. I emailed you last night. It's Amanda."

  "Come in."

  The gates swung open and I followed the driveway around past several large oak trees to a cute stone cottage.

  A girl stood at the front door. It surprised me how young she was. She was a pale little thing with huge blue eyes surrounded by dark circles. I'd always had dark circles under my eyes as a girl, probably because of my similarly pale skin. I never went anywhere any more without my concealer pen.

  "Hi, Mary." I held out my hand and she placed her skinny hand in mine. She never said a word, all the time just looking at me with an odd expression on her face.

  "Thank you for this," I said. "I know it's a difficult time for your family."

  Mary seemed to pull herself together. "That's okay. Come in."

  She led me down a dark hallway, past several doors to a room to the right of the staircase. The only light came from a small gap in the curtains and it took a while for my eyes to adjust.

  Judy was sitting up in bed. Her hair had been brushed back off her face and tied. Her gaunt features and sunken eyes brought to mind a skeleton. I inhaled sharply as I saw that the left side of her face was twisted and the eye drooped.

  "I-I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs Pitt."

  "Judy, please," she said. Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  "Okay, Judy."

  "Take a seat." She nodded at a chair placed to the side of her. "Mary, please get our guest a cup of tea."

  I'd forgotten Mary was in the room. I turned and watched her leave, then I turned back to the bed.

  "I'll get straight to the point, Judy. I don't know if you can help me, but I've got nowhere else to turn. Strange things have been happening to me, starting with your first phone call."

  "Go on," she nodded, her eyebrows wrinkling.

  "I was at the zoo that day with my family. During my phone call with you, my daughter vanished."

  Her breath hitched.

  "Don't worry. We found her after a frantic search—though when we did she said she'd followed me out of the building."

  "I'm sorry, but what does this have to do with me?" Her voice was quiet and raspy, but I managed to understand her very well.

  "Maybe nothing at all. But then my estranged father went missing and turned up dead at your house. That's too much of a coincidence."

  "Yes, I can see that, yet I'm still unsure how I can help you."

  "I don't know, but this is my only hope. I
was wondering who else had the key code for the house?"

  I became aware of a commotion coming from another part of the house. A man was shouting.

  Judy said, "I already told the police we didn't give the number to anybody else."

  "The troubling thing is, more murders have been committed since then, and all of them link to me in some way. I'm worried about my children."

  Mary came back into the room looking flustered. "I'm sorry, Amanda, you've got to leave. My father's angry that I allowed you in."

  I jumped up. "Oh, I'm sorry. I hope I've not got you into any trouble."

  "My husband is over-protective of me," Judy said. "He'll calm down."

  Rummaging through my bag, I produced the photograph of Andrew. "Before I go—could you tell me if this person looks familiar to you?" I handed the faded image to Judy who glanced at it before shaking her head and handing it back.

  "No, sorry. You'd better go."

  "Of course. Oh, and needless to say, I won't be able to finish the job."

  "I understand. Please send me an invoice for the work you've already done and I'll make sure you get paid."

  "Thank you. Goodbye Judy." I pressed my hand on the back of hers.

  "Goodbye and good luck with everything," she said.

  Mary was even more pale by the time we reached the front door.

  "Maybe I should talk to your father, apologise to him for my intrusion."

  "No!" Mary snapped. "He's busy."

  "Please tell him I'm sorry."

  "Okay."

  As I pulled away, I noticed the curtain moving in the upstairs window. Mary was still standing on the doorstep and was waving to me. She was a serious-looking little thing—she looked as though she had a lot on her mind. I couldn't begin to imagine what she was going through. The death of a parent was tough at any age, but for a young girl like her it must be devastating.

  Chapter 34

  Michael